


Amnesia

by ravenna_c_tan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-03
Updated: 2006-06-03
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/pseuds/ravenna_c_tan
Summary: Harry destroys a Horcrux and his memory at the same time. Angst ensues. "Then I grabbed for my wand because there was someone in the room I didn't know. He was obviously a wizard, because he was reading by the light of his wand, the glow from the tip illuminating his blond hair and eyebrows. Somehow seeing him filled me with hostility..."Warnings: Threat of violence in sexually-charged situations.





	Amnesia

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to miraba for beta-reading. Originally written to fulfill prompts in the 100 Quills Fest.

**PART ONE: BLANK**

My mind went blank. I say "went" because I knew that wondering who I was and what I was doing was somehow not normal. But that was what I was doing, the moment after my mind went blank.

I started to assimilate information. I was on my knees, in the middle of a circle of ancient stones, alone. Either the sun was about to rise or it had just set. I could see clearly in the partial light. Tall stones loomed above me. My right hand hurt. I examined it. It was a bit scorched and sooty, the palm raw and blistered. The left seemed fine.

I was wearing a red sweatshirt, blue jeans, and white trainers. I didn't seem to be in immediate danger. I climbed shakily to my feet.

My ears were ringing. Then a man stepped out from behind one of the stones, a man with a deep voice, a dark face. "Harry?" he said, as if addressing me.

So I was Harry. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

"Uh... My hand hurts."

"Do you still have your wand?"

"My what?" I looked around at my feet. Then I knelt down, because I couldn't see the ground very well, and there was a pair of glasses there. I tried them on, and now the ground was much easier to see. "What does it look like?"

There was a moment of silence and I could hear other voices, other people joining him. Then his voice again. "It's a pointed piece of wood, about a foot long."

I checked again. "Nope, sorry."

"I can't cross the circle," he said, then. "I'm going to levitate you out of there."

What happened next made my stomach drop into my shoes, as I suddenly began to float upward and then toward him. I could see him better now, a tall black man in dark robes that stopped midway down his calves. He was holding a pointed stick--a wand--and as he moved it, I moved. As my feet touched the ground he flicked it--my weight returned.

"Thanks," I said. The expectant look on his face told me he thought I would say more. "Um, what just happened?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Harry, your scar is gone." He was looking at my hair.

I pushed it back from my eyes with my uninjured hand. "My what? I'm sorry, I just don't remember anything before a few minutes ago." I held out my hand to show him the blisters. "Could my.... wand have caught fire?"

Several others began talking then, all of them at once, and I put my hands over my ears. Too much sound, too much information. The group of them went into a flurry of action then, and the next thing I knew my hand had stopped hurting, and everyone seemed to be feeling a mix of triumph and concern. The concern mostly had to do with me. I was right--I was supposed to know more than I did. 

They took me to a place called St. Mungo's, which I was supposed to know, and I met a bunch of people there I was supposed to know, and it was all a bit overwhelming. I was there for several days. At the end of the third or fourth day, I decided everything was going to be all right. This despite the hospital people fussing incessantly, and despite the fact that my memory had neither returned nor improved much. Kingsley, the one who had levitated me out of the circle, came to see me quite a few times over the next week, as did other people whose names I had to learn because they seemed important, though I kept forgetting some of them. I found it hard to believe I had ever remembered that many names before.

One day they brought me a wand for my own, and I wouldn't let it go. By then my hand had healed, and there was just something comforting about having the wood in my hand. They even let me sleep with it in my hand. Apparently my attachment to holding it was a good sign that my magic was still there.

Magic. Maybe that was how I remembered all those names.

Two days after that, they sent me home because, they said, there was nothing to do but wait. "Sometimes the lost memory just floods back, given the right trigger," one of the mediwizards said. "So make sure he goes to familiar surroundings and interacts with familiar people in familiar ways." Kingsley took me home himself, by Apparition, which was something I apparently knew how to do myself but couldn't quite remember.

"Listen," Kingsley was telling me as he made a pot of tea in what was supposedly my kitchen, though he seemed very familiar with it. "You're a fighter, Harry. You've suffered worse. You'll get through this."

"I expect I will," I said, sitting down at the table and looking around. "Until I do, though, can you fill me in on where we are and what's going on?"

Mistake. By the end of what he said, I barely remembered the address was number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The important bits seemed to be: I was part of a secret society that was fighting Evil. Check. The house, which was my house, was also where the secret society met. Check. So various people whom I should know would be popping in and out. Check. I'd worry about their names as the need arose. Meanwhile, Kingsley was only going to stick around until someone else came. They didn't want me on my own too long, in case I ran into some spell or something I couldn't deal with.

I asked him to show me my bedroom, which he did, and then I told him I'd like to take a nap. He said he'd be in the next room and just to yell if I needed anything. 

I did want to take a nap, but as soon as he closed the door, I wanted to try something. I hadn't wanted to in the hospital, where there were always people watching, but now that I was alone in what was my own room, I held my wand in my hand. They had told me it was holly with a dragon heartstring, supposedly similar to my old one. All I knew was I liked the feel of it in my hand. On top of the dresser was a pile of parchment and a quill. I pointed my wand at the quill. Could I make it move? _Come on, up. Up._

The quill fell off the dresser as if blown by a draught of wind. Kingsley had said they would try to start teaching me magic tomorrow, but some part of me had to try it first. I picked the quill up and put it on the pile of parchment again.

The blank parchment seemed to be mocking me. It was like my mind had once been a book, and now all I had was a pile of blank pages. I aimed my wand at the quill again. This time, I punctuated my thought with a stab of the wand.

_Come on!_

This time the parchment burst into flames. I quickly smothered it by throwing the spare blanket over the entire pile. I listened carefully... there was no sign that Kingsley had noticed anything. My hand was shaking now. I was pleased. I had proved I could do magic. My memory might have gone up in smoke, but I was still Harry, of that I was sure.

 

**PART TWO: WHO?**

I had slept a lot while in St. Mungo's. When I had dreams, I felt in the dreams like I had my memory back, and even if the feeling was false, it comforted me. In the dreams I knew people's names and sometimes when I woke up, I was right about them. So maybe sleep was good for me. I lay down to take the nap I had told Kingsley I was going to, in what they told me was my own bed. It did smell familiar and I put my wand on the nightstand where it felt right to put it. 

Kingsley woke me a while later just to tell me he was leaving. My next babysitter had arrived and Kingsley was off on some mission. Good guy hero stuff, I suppose. I said goodbye and rolled back over and went back to sleep. 

I dreamed about a dragon. I was flying on a broom and this dragon was trying to kill me. She was really angry and she breathed fire. I wasn't enjoying this dream very much, to tell you the truth, so I tried to wake up. When I finally did sit up, I was breathing hard and my previously scorched hand smarted.

Then I grabbed for my wand because there was someone in the room I didn't know. He was obviously a wizard, because he was reading by the light of his wand, the glow from the tip illuminating his blond hair and eyebrows. He looked up with a mild expression on his face at the noise I made as I fairly jumped out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, because somehow seeing him filled me with hostility.

I saw a flicker of emotions cross his face, but then he set his jaw. His voice was pained, though, as he said "I'm relieving Kingsley." 

I hadn't seen him at the hospital. I didn't know him at all. "What's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said, sitting perfectly still, the book still open in his lap, his wand still held up, as if he were afraid to move.

I pointed my wand at him, though I knew I had no idea how to use it. "Don't try anything funny. I don't trust you."

"Apparently not," he said, and slumped a bit, though his face still held that neutral, blank expression. "Maybe I should go. I'll get someone else."

"No." I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "No?"

"Not until you tell me who you are and... and..." I realized the absurdity of asking him to tell me why I didn't like him. "And why they sent you to watch me." A thought occurred to me then. What if he was working on the evil side? How did I know he was one of the good guys?

"Your paranoia is plain on your face, Harry." He folded the book and set it aside. "Look, I'm putting my wand down over here, okay?" He stood up and then laid his wand in the wooden chair where he had been sitting.

"I want an explanation," I said, shaking my wand at him like something dangerous could come out of it. I wondered if I could repeat the setting-something-on-fire trick. I was gratified when he flinched.

"This is going to take a lot more explaining than I can do in one sitting. Can you trust me on this?" He had his hands open and was taking very slow steps toward the door, which meant he was also walking toward me.

"I already told you I didn't trust you."

He sighed. "Harry, please. This is already difficult."

What happened next was I shouted at him to stop moving, or tried to, I waved the wand at him. He lunged at me and we fought for the wand. He was taller, his feet shod, he had the advantage, but I struggled with him. We ended up on the floor, with him on top of me, and the wand in his hand. I could not catch my breath.

He stood up, picked up his own wand and said, "I'm sorry, Harry," his face still a perfect mask. Then he ran--sprinted--from the room.

He had taken my wand. In a moment I was on my feet only to find the door would not open. I began to bang on it and scream at him. I needed that wand. And there were so many questions I needed answers to. Who was he? What was he to me? 

And, why did I have tears on my face? The scent of him was still on my hands as I buried my face in them.

**PART THREE: PARENTS**

After a while I went to sit in the chair he had sat in. Surely if he had been on the evil side, he would have done something to me while I was asleep. Unless he was reading the instructions...? I picked up the book he had been reading. The title was _Magical Mind Maladies_ and it appeared to be a combination of case studies and healing advice. All right. So he was probably a good guy and was probably the one who relieved Kingsley.

Still, how could anyone with a name like _Draco Malfoy_ be a good guy?

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a female voice saying "Harry? Can I come in?"

I wanted to say "Only if Draco Malfoy isn't with you, that rat." But I didn't. "Come in," I said.

A plump, red-haired woman opened the door cautiously, then stepped the rest of the way in. With a flick of her wand she brightened the lights. "Oh, Harry. I ... It's good to see you." Her eyes got a bit teary when she said that. 

And she held out my wand. I stood and took it from her. "Thank you," I said. I sat on the edge of the bed.

She sat down next to me, and brushed my hair out of my eyes. Her hand was soft and it felt nice. Comforting. "So it really is true. Your scar is gone."

"I don't even remember having one." I stared at the floor.

"It used to be how people knew you, even when you didn't know them."

I laughed, just a short laugh. "You mean it was always like this?"

"No, well, not the memory thing, of course. But it always meant people knew who you were before you knew who they were. It was shaped like a bolt of lightning." She tapped me lightly where the scar used to be. "I daresay once you got older it looked rather dashing."

"How did I get it?"

"Oh, you'd had it since you were one year old." She paused, her eyes filling again as she tried to decide what to say next.

I decided to say something first. "Are you my mother?"

Mistake. That sent the tears spilling right out. "Oh, Harry, dear." She hugged me then, and it felt very, very motherly. But then she said, "I was a friend of your mother's. My name is Molly Weasley. You used to call me Mrs. Weasley, but I daresay you're grown up enough now to address me as Molly." She held me at arm's length. "Are you ready to hear about your mother, and your father?"

I nodded.

"The night you got that scar, well... hmm. You know we're fighting an evil wizard, yes?"

"Yes, Kingsley told me that part."

"Good. Well, when you were a baby, the evil wizard tried to kill you and your parents. Their names were Lily and James. He killed them, but when he tried to kill you, his curse backfired, and you got the scar."

I sat up suddenly. "I was trying to do something about him when I lost my memory, wasn't I?"

She clasped my hands. "Yes! Yes, that's right, Harry. Do you remember anything?"

I shook my head. "No, no memory. Just a hunch. I did something magical, something that... burned up my wand and took the scar away. That makes sense."

She set her face with concern. "Well. It's too soon for you to go jumping back into the fray. Tomorrow we'll start re-teaching you magic. I don't want you running off and trying to be a hero until you at least get your ... wits about you," she finished, though I wanted to know what she had been about to say before she changed the end of her sentence.

"Am I prone to doing that sort of thing?" I asked, knowing even as I asked that it was true.

She pursed her lips. "You are a very courageous, generous, loving person, Harry. But you keep your promises. Promise me you won't do something reckless."

Like light a pile of parchment on fire or threaten Draco Malfoy with a wand I don't know how to use? "Molly, I can't make promises when I don't even know how to ... levitate a quill yet." I broke away from her and walked to the other side of the room. "I... um... is Draco Malfoy all right? He's on our side, isn't he?"

Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Yes, Harry, he's on our side. You gave him quite a scare."

I had balled my hands into fists and hadn't even realized it. "Good. I don't like him."

Molly's mouth fell open at that, as if she had the need to say something but there were no appropriate words. Then she stood, too. "I know it's a lot to take in, Harry. They say the more time you spend with familiar people, the more likely it is for your memory to return. All of us, we all want to do what we can. Ron--he's my son, and one of your best friends--he'll be here tomorrow. And Hermione, she's another one."

"I think I saw her at St. Mungo's."

"Yes, yes you did." She nodded. "And Harry, understand no one will make you do something you don't want to."

"But? I hear a 'but" coming."

She smiled. "The 'but' is this. If you don't want to see Draco, that's fine. BUT he was a person you did spend a fair amount of time with, so you probably shouldn't leave him out of the ... recovery process." She rubbed her palms together. "Now, fancy a spot of tea? I can whip up some crumpets in no time at all."

That did sound good. "Is he still here?"

She shook her head. "I sent him off to his parents' home. Now, if I remember rightly, you preferred Earl Grey with milk and two sugars," she said as she led the way down to the kitchen.

"I'm glad someone remembers," I said, but so only I could hear it.

**PART FOUR: FRIENDS**

I woke up in the morning with no guardian in my room. My wand was on the night table and I didn't remember my dreams, only the feeling they gave me of my mind being whole. Before dropping off to sleep last night, I had read some of Malfoy's book on magical mind maladies, and although I didn't understand a lot of the more technical points, one thing did sink in. Our minds don't like having things wrong with them, and we each have a natural ability to cover over the problem, or to even become blind to our own problems, because we cope better by pretending that everything is working correctly.

I knew my memory had been blanked out by some kind of dark curse. If there was any chance of getting it back, I had to remember that. If I just acted like the hole wasn't there, I might get used to it and it would be that way forever.

Familiar things, familiar people, they were supposed to help bring the memories back. They had some case studies of people who were complete amnesiacs, but just the right trigger brought it all back. One fellow who had lost his memory in the war against Grindelwald regained it all when he was given a toy cat he had played with as a child. A witch who had lost hers because of a cursed object got hers back when she was taken to her husband's grave. I got out of bed and examined the room. My bedroom. I opened the top drawer of the dresser and looked at the balled up socks. The drawer below it was stuffed with jumpers that were clearly mine because they had my initials on them. T-shirts, jeans, the drawers had lots more clothes that looked like the ones Kingsley had brought me to wear in the hospital. My clothes. I got dressed, vaguely disappointed that I hadn't hidden anything in the sock drawer, the discovery of which would be a secret talisman to unlock my past. Yeah, right. Well, maybe I had somewhere better than a sock drawer to hide things in, anyway.

I went next to a tall wardrobe and opened it. Inside were drawers and a bar on which were hung shirts and trousers, neatly pressed. I ran my hand on the flawless white linen of a shirtsleeve. I pulled it out by the hanger and looked at it. This couldn't be mine. The sleeves were too long. I looked at the trousers, too. Too long for me. The drawers held more socks, undershirts... did I have an older brother or something?

A gentle knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I said, and turned to see a brown-haired witch with a wide smile on her face, followed by a red-haired wizard who was holding in his smile while looking at me with concern. "Let me guess. Ron, and..." I felt my mind falter. "Damn it. I remember you from the hospital. Molly told me..."

"It's okay, Harry," the witch said, taking me by the hands and then hugging me tightly. "It's Hermione," she added, seemingly not the slightest bit chagrined. "And it's really great to see you, even if..."

"Even if you don't remember a bloody thing!" Ron strode forward and shook my hand, then pulled me into an embrace, too.

"Good to see you guys, too," I answered. These two did feel very familiar. Comfortable. No strange hostile feelings. Though nothing came flooding back, either.

"Mum's making lunch," Ron said then. "Downstairs."

"Lunch?" I shook my head to clear the last of the sleepiness from it. "I slept a long time."

"Sleeping's supposed to be good for you," Hermione said, as we trekked down to the kitchen. 

Soon, my brain was beginning to feel as full as my stomach, as we were halfway done with our sandwiches and Hermione was still talking. Apparently she'd read not only the whole book I had upstairs, but a few dozen others, too, about memory loss and magic. I shot Ron a look when it seemed like she was never going to run out of steam and he responded with a quiet, "Oh, yeah, mate. She's always like this. You'll get used to it."

Which comment caused Hermione to break off and make a face at us. "Now, Harry, I've devised a lesson plan for you." She pulled a notebook out of her bag and put it on the table. "I consulted with the Hogwarts curriculum and depending on how fast you go..."

"Enough talking, Hermione. Can't you see he's itching to just try something?"

I had my wand in my hand.

"Let's go up to the drawing room for this," Hermione said, with a glance at Mrs. Weasley. "Thanks for lunch, Molly!"

"Anytime, dears. Do give a shout if you need any help."

In the drawing room, Hermione put a single quill in the middle of the tea table, then indicated I should sit in the chair. I sat down and stared at the quill. Could she have used magic...? "So, how did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"Yesterday, I tried to levitate a quill. Just to see if I could."

She and Ron exchanged a glance. "That's really interesting, Harry," Hermione said, pulling a wingback chair closer and sitting in it. "I think it means you must subconsciously remember something."

"Why? Kingsley levitated me, so I figured if he could do me, something light like a feather should be easy."

"It was the very first lesson we ever did in charms," Hermione went on, as if I hadn't spoken. "And it was one of the first spells you got good at. I don't think it was a coincidence. So what happened?"

"Oh, er, with the feather?" I felt my cheeks reddening.

"Yes, with the feather..."

"Oh, I, um, set a pile of parchment on fire."

Ron burst out laughing at that. 

"Oh, like you've never done that, Ron," Hermione scolded. Then she turned to me again. "First off, don't hold your wand too tightly. This charm works best with a swish and flick motion..."

Well, with just a little prompting, it turned out I could do it. In fact, within an hour I had not only levitated the feather, but the table, and even the couch with Ron lying on it. When I let Ron down, Hermione declared the lesson a success. "Good work, Harry. Now take a look at this." She pulled out a copy of her first year Charms text. "I think you should be able to master everything in the first year curriculum within a month. In your lesson plan I've marked the spells you're most likely to find useful right away, though, in case you want to start with those."

Then she pulled out what looked like a small crystal ball. "And this will help you get caught up on current events." She put it in my palm, tapped it with her wand, and said "Relectus." The ball flared brightly and what looked like a page of the Daily Prophet flickered in the air in front of me. "It's a Re-reader. It's got every issue of the Prophet from the past five years in it. It starts automatically with the earliest one, and you can search it. You can get the instructions by saying 'Relectus Doctrina.'"

This was better than any history book. I put it down on the table, the flickering projection of the paper steadying as it came to rest. "That's brilliant, Hermione. Thanks."

"I wanted to bring you something, too," Ron said. "But they made me wait."

"He's not ready for that yet, Ron." Hermione looked at me. "Sorry, I know you hate it when we talk like you're not here. But you're not ready to try flying yet, Harry."

"Flying?" Just saying the word made my heart leap.

"I've got your broom," Ron explained. "You lent it to me a while back. And I think it's probably one of the things that's going to jog your memory best. You're a brilliant flyer, Harry. The best. And you always said you felt... the most like yourself on your broom. No cares, no worries..." He realized he was babbling and sank back onto the couch. "I thought we could go back to the Burrow and give it a try."

I looked at Hermione. "Why wouldn't I be ready to try it? Is it hard?"

"Not for you, it's not," Ron said.

Hermione shot him a look. "Well, you did progress much faster today than I thought you would... but still, Harry. Aren't you tired?"

"I slept twelve hours last night. I'm not the slightest bit tired." That wasn't actually true. All the levitation had made me a little fatigued, though it didn't show. "Where's the Burrow?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Wow, you really don’t remember anything! Right now, we're in the middle of Muggle London, can't just go flying about on a broom here where we might be seen. But the Burrow's out in the countryside." Then seeing the question on my face he added. "But just a quick trip by Floo. C'mon, Hermione. We can nip over there, give it a try, and be back here for supper."

"Oh, all right." She stood up. "But let's not overdo it, okay? And don't be disappointed if it doesn't work the first time," she said as we trooped down to the kitchen to use the grate there.

Ron snorted. "Just because you couldn't even get your broom off the ground for the first ten minutes doesn't mean Harry'll be like that..."

But he broke off as I shushed him. There were voices coming from the kitchen. I sidled up to the door, which was open slightly, and tried to look in. I could see Molly Weasley, sitting at the table with a pot of tea in front of her. She was holding someone's hand, someone who was out of my view.

"There, there, dear," she was saying. "Surely it's just a matter of time?"

A male voice answered. "Do you really believe that?"

"I think it's entirely too soon to give up, " she said. "Harry's always come through before."

"You should have heard what my father's ghost said. My mother, too. I can't go back there tonight, Molly. As far as they're concerned, this is the best thing that ever happened to Harry. And me."

Molly patted the hand. "Poor Harry's just confused is all..."

"Confused? He hates me! He attacked me last night, Molly, and it's just a good thing he hasn't remembered any of his spells or he would have probably split me open like he did Sixth Year." 

My hair stood on the back of his neck. So that was Malfoy in there. And I had attacked him once before? When we were in school? What really gave me goose bumps, though, was the sound of Malfoy crying. It felt like someone reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart.

I glanced back at the other two, who stared at me with these dumb, stricken looks. I had the same look on my face, I think.

The sound of a chair scraping the stone floor drew my attention back to the kitchen. Malfoy was speaking again. "I know it's not a good idea for me to stay here. I'll just pop upstairs and grab some clothes, and then I'll... I'll go to the Leaky Cauldron for a few days."

"If you're sure..." Molly started to say, but the crack of Disapparition cut her off.

I waited a few seconds before pushing the door open, though I was at a loss for what to say. Malfoy confused me utterly and Molly obviously was being nice to him, so I couldn't very well go on a tirade about him, could I? Should I apologize for attacking him? I couldn't figure it out.

Fortunately I had friends to come to my rescue.

"Hi, Mum," Ron said. "Um, we're just off to the Burrow for a bit."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Harry's absolutely speeding through Charms and we wondered if maybe your garden would be a better place to practice. More room, you know."

"Well, you know best, Hermione," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm going to put supper on here, so be back in time for that. Arthur and Kingsley are joining us and that should be good for Harry, don't you think, Harry?"

"Um, brilliant. See you then." I gave Mrs. Weasley a peck on the cheek like the one Ron gave her earlier. Then after a quick explanation of how the Floo network worked, because I didn't remember, off we went.

**PART FIVE: PICTURE**

When I stumbled up to my room, I was thoroughly tired. Flying, as Ron had predicted, came to me as naturally as breathing, and we had taken turns on the broom until it was almost too dark to see, then hurried back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place where the others were waiting for us. No Malfoy, though. The way he had talked it was clear he usually stayed here and I wondered if he had eaten alone somewhere tonight. 

The talk around the dinner table had been pleasant and fast-paced and much of the time I just sat and listened. It was getting easier to remember names, and there was much talk about people everyone knew in common, other members of the Order. There was a little bit of strategy talk--Ron and Hermione were going to be going off on a mission together--but not very much, I think because I was there and they didn't want me overloaded. 

I pushed open the door to my bedroom and began dragging my clothes off me tiredly. Pyjamas were in the bottom drawer. I remembered and felt ridiculously pleased with myself.

As I went to climb into bed, I was surprised to find a large, leatherbound book sitting on my pillow. The magical maladies book was gone and here instead was something else. I opened it cautiously, and saw it was not a grimoire of dark magic, but a photo album.

Mrs. Weasley must have put it there, I thought, as it was clear to me that the people in the photos were my parents. Page after page of photos of them. I sat cross-legged on the bed and paged through it. Then I came to a page with photos of me and Hermione and Ron. In one, we couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, wearing school uniforms. Ron and I kept trying to pinch each other and Hermione kept fussing to try to get us to stop. I smiled. It seemed like nothing had changed. 

There were more of us, as we got older, one of us with an extremely large, hairy fellow in front of a cheery-looking cottage.

The final page had only two photos on it, and my fingers tightened around the edges of the album as I looked at them. One was of Draco Malfoy, standing next to what looked like a statue, waving at me and smiling, the sun glinting off his hair. He leaned against the statue and pointed to it--it appeared to be some kind of knight in an armor suit. I didn't remember it, obviously.

In the other photo, we both appeared. I stared at the moving figures. We were in Muggle dress, not robes. It looked like we were in a city square, a fountain in the background. The me in the photo reached out and took his hand. Then Draco gave a wink, and turned, and took my face in his hands, and the two wizards in the photograph kissed.

I stared. That was definitely a photograph of me and Draco Malfoy, kissing. It didn't look like a joke. He was taller than me in the photo and bent me back a little. I was reaching up and holding onto him, running my fingers through his hair.

It couldn't be true. But something he'd said earlier came back to me. _I'll just pop upstairs and grab some clothes..._ I pushed the album aside and rushed to the wardrobe. I pulled open the doors. The white linen shirt I had touched this morning was gone, along with several other things by the look of the empty hangers.

My brain still could not grasp the facts and I pushed at my temples with my fingers. This was Draco's room, too. Draco, who apparently had no trouble kissing me in a public square. Draco, whom Molly Weasley had mentioned I was... familiar with.

I sat down in the middle of the floor, trying to understand. The book had said that sometimes, when a person's memory was wiped, any charms or spells that had been at work were also wiped away. Could I have been under some kind of love spell? That would explain why now, with everything wiped away, all I felt for him was hate and animosity.

I put the Re-reader, my wand, and the album into a satchel, stuffed my robes in as well, and then stuck my head into the hallway. Mrs. Weasley was in the drawing room--I could hear her humming to herself and her charmed knitting needles clicking. I wasn't ready to try Apparating to the kitchen yet. Hermione's lesson plan had that several months away. And I couldn't very well go sneaking past the doorway, could I?

I went to the doorway of the drawing room. "Molly, what kind of tea was it you said I liked?"

"Earl Grey, dear. Do you want a cup? I'll go and make you one."

"No, no," I said, shooing her back into her seat. "I want to try to figure it out myself. If I need any help, I'll come and ask. I want to... study my books and sip tea while I read."

She beamed at me. "That's wonderful, Harry. I'm so glad your lessons went well, today. I'm sure the reading will do you good."

Excellent. I went to the fireplace down in the kitchen and took a handful of Floo powder in my hand. "The Leaky Cauldron," I said, as I threw it down and stepped into the flames.

The Leaky Cauldron, I was pleased to find, was a pub with rooms for rent. All I had to do was ask for Malfoy at the desk, and they told me what room he was in and pointed the way to the stairs.

As I climbed the stairs, I felt the tiredness catch up with me a little. There was probably an anti-tiredness spell, but I didn't know it yet. As I looked for room seven, I thought over what I was going to say. This was difficult as I wasn't sure, still, if I was going to apologize for making him cry, or if I was going to accuse him of seducing me. Well, I was here now and it was best to jump in with both feet.

I knocked on the door. I had my wand in my hand, down at my side. 

The door opened, and he was standing there, wearing the white linen shirt, untucked from black trousers, his feet bare. He stared at me, clearly holding a surge of emotions in check.

"Can I come in?" I asked, talking a half-step forward as I said it.

He stepped back, and I walked into the room. It was a dingy little place, one small window showing the lights of Muggle London, a chest of drawers, a chipped-looking four-poster bed with gray curtains, and a writing desk. He offered me the chair of the writing desk and sat on the bed himself. "So, how are you feeling?"

His voice was so neutral, so schooled, the feeling of suspicion welled up in me. "What are you hiding?"

"Harry, I'm not hiding anything. You're the one who's..." He broke off, his fists pressed against his knees.

"What did you do to me?" I asked then, bringing my wand up. "I look at you and what I feel is suspicion, hate. I think you put a... a love spell on me, and when my memory got erased, your spell went with it."

He couldn't keep up the neutral expression when I said that. He looked rather like I had just stabbed him with a dagger and then twisted it around in his guts. "You really think that."

"I don't know what to think. I just know how I feel."

"You hate me."

"Apparently."

He started to cry. No sobs, not like what I heard in the kitchen, just two clear tracks of tears pouring out of his eyes. We stared at each other and I hated the feeling that it was my fault that he was crying. That didn't really make sense, did it? If I hated his guts, why did I care if he cried? 

"Stop crying."

"I can't." His eyes never left mine.

I felt helpless. I stood up and advanced toward him. "Please stop."

He shied away, his eyes now on my wand. I lowered it, and reached toward his face with my empty hand, as if I could tell if the tears were real if I touched them.

He sat perfectly still as I ran my thumb over his cheek. He dropped his eyes, and I brushed tears from his blond lashes.

"Are you afraid of me?" I asked.

"Yes," he said in a whisper. 

"Why?"

That brought on the sobs he had been holding back. His shoulders slumped and he struggled to answer. "You... you..."

"I've hurt you before."

He nodded. 

I sat on the bed next to him. "Why did I do that?"

He hugged himself. "I can't do this, Harry. I can't sit here and ... and answer your questions."

That made me angry. "Yes, you can." I pushed him down onto the bed, the tip of my wand under his chin.

He didn't struggle, just lay there, eyes closed, swallowing hard as I climbed over him.

"Answer me."

He looked me in the eye, then, his red-rimmed but some anger flaring there. "Look at yourself, Harry. You're the one with a wand in my throat. Do you want to hurt me?"

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt in frustration. "No! Yes! I don't know!"

He licked his lips and waited a moment before what he said next. "I love you, Harry."

I froze. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

He looked away. "It doesn't matter. I know you don't believe it."

"Wait a minute. I never said that." I took a deep breath, trying to get the swirl of thoughts in my head to settle. "What I didn't believe is that I loved you."

He closed his eyes like he couldn't stand the sight of me, anymore. "Please just go, Harry."

"If you're on my side, you should be helping me."

"Fine. I'll... come tomorrow and teach you Transfiguration."

I shook my head. Was he always like this, I wondered, able to slip so quickly from one emotion to another? Was that why I didn't trust him? "What?"

He surged up then, knocking me off the bed, and he shouted. "I said I'd come teach you Transfiguration tomorrow! Just get out! Get out and leave me alone!"

I picked myself up off the floor. He had gone for his wand and pointed it at me from where he knelt on the bed. His hair half-obscured his face and his hand shook as he held his wand out. "Just go," he repeated.

"But..."

"Please, Harry." He begged me with his eyes even as he gestured toward the door with his wand.

I went. I stumbled down to the Floo, and made it home, and then sat in the kitchen with my head in my hands, trying to get my feelings straightened out. Draco Malfoy was in love with me, that much was obvious. Even if he was a slippery bastard, I didn't believe he could act that well. But how did I feel about him?

As I sat there, all I could think about was the feel of his cheek under my thumb, silken soft, the slight tremble in his skin as he let me touch him. 

He was afraid of me, and he loved me anyway. 

I thought about the photograph of the two of us, kissing in a public square. What kind of a lover was I? Mrs. Weasley had called me courageous, generous, and loving. So why did I feel like a monster now?

I went upstairs. Mrs. Weasley was snoring quietly in a chair in the drawing room. I left her there and went up to my own room.

The wardrobe doors were still open. I went and looked at the clothes hanging there. There was a bathrobe on a hook. I pulled it out--it was a fabric as soft as Draco's skin. 

I buried my face in it and breathed deeply and was surprised that a sob caught in my own chest.

I tossed the piece of clothing away from me and sat shaking on the floor for a long time. Then I got in bed, but despite how tired I was, I didn't sleep. Not for a long time.

**PART SIX: CLARITY**

When I stumbled downstairs for breakfast the next morning early, after a few hours of tossing and turning, I was surprised to find Kingsley in the kitchen making tea and toast.

"Good morning, Harry," he said as I dragged in. "Rough night last night?"

I rubbed my eyes and they felt as swollen as a toad's. "You could say that."

He put a cup of tea, a plate of toast and a jar of jam down in front of me. "You weren't up all night trying to learn the whole year's worth of Charms, were you?"

I shook my head and took a scalding sip of the tea. The pain in my tongue woke me up a bit more. "I... I can't stop thinking about Malfoy."

Kingsley sat with his own pile of toast across from me. "You know he's on our side, right?"

"Yeah."

"I heard about the other night. You really gave him a scare, Harry." Kingsley wasn't looking at me--he was buttering his toast with great care and I realized it was so what he said to me would seem less like he was scolding me. "It may seem now like levitating a feather is great shakes, but you're capable of much, much more than that."

"I know." That monstrous feeling began to return. "Kingsley, I need you to tell me about him."

Kingsley added jam to his toast and took a bite. "You and he were rivals at school, I know that much. I didn't really get to know him until he joined the Order, but the basic facts are these. His father was one of Voldemort's right hand men. Wanted Draco to follow in his footsteps. Draco tried it that way, but it was pretty much only to please his father. Voldemort, he doesn't tolerate weakness in his followers. Far as we can tell, he set it up so that either Lucius--that was his father--would have to kill Draco, or vice versa, to prove their loyalty."

"That's... insane," I said, my toast going cold in my hand.

Kingsley nodded. "Evil, even. Draco was lucky we got wind of where the Death Eaters were meeting. At the point when you rescued him, he was pretty far gone."

"I rescued him?"

Now Kingsley did look up. "He and Lucius were dueling. We held back, figuring they might kill each other and that would be two fewer for us to deal with. But you... you didn't follow orders."

"Your orders?" I didn't know if I should apologize for that or not. 

"My orders." Kingsley went back to demolishing another piece of toast, a small smile on his face. I wondered what was so amusing. "You charged in there and you got Draco out. You took down a few of them on the way, and you gained us one of our most valuable members."

"What happened to... Lucius?"

"We're pretty sure the last hex Draco threw in the duel killed him." Kingsley poured himself a cup of tea and knocked it back, still hot, without milk or sugar. "He's been our best codebreaker since then, excellent at Potions, absolute steel in a fight. I guess once you've had to duel your own father, facing down other Death Eaters is no big deal."

I took a sip of tea and realized I had lost my appetite. "But that doesn't explain how I... how did we..." I was blushing madly.

"It's okay, Harry." Kingsley topped off my tea--how he could drink it so hot I don't know--and started on another piece of toast. "Once you rescued him, you felt responsible for him. There were some Order members who felt he ought to be strung up by the Ministry or even done in by ourselves. He was in a bad way after the duel and couldn't defend himself. So you did it. You stuck by him, helped him recover, and along the way he told you a lot of things that were very useful to the Order."

"And he fell in love with me."

"Well, it certainly looked that way."

"Did I fall in love with him?"

Kingsley paused. "If the feelings weren't mutual, there certainly never was any sign of it. Not that I could see."

"Oh." I stared at my hands in my lap. "There has to be an explanation."

"Love can be hard to explain."

I looked up. "Why do I feel like I hate him now, if I didn't then? I thought maybe he had put me under some kind of ... love spell, which got wiped out with my memory."

Kingsley made a face, as if he were seriously considering that possibility. "I don't think it's possible. We all get checked for spells and curses, every few weeks, to make sure no one's under Imperius or other influencing charms. And yes, that includes love charms and potions." He held his teacup in one large hand. "I think it's more likely that you thought of him as an enemy for so long--most of your life, I suppose--that you reverted to that way of thinking."

"I still don't understand what could have changed so drastically that the two of us went from being bitter enemies to being... together." My head started to throb just thinking about it.

Kingsley stood. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to get to work." He put a warm hand on my shoulder. "But if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the biggest difference is that you both... grew up."

Then he stepped to the Floo and disappeared with a whoosh. There really wasn't much more I could say after that, was there?

A short while later, Mrs. Weasley came down, wearing a bright pink housecoat embroidered with green flowers. "Harry, dear! I didn't expect you up so early. Would you like some breakfast?"

"Er," I took a bite of cold toast to prove I wasn't starving. "Just finishing up, actually. Kingsley was here."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"Um, Molly?" I figured I should warn her in case--well, just in case. "Um, I think Draco Malfoy is going to come and visit today."

She turned from the stove where she had been prepping another kettle, and looked at me curiously.

"I... I invited him. They keep saying I should spend time with the people I spent the most time with." I swallowed hard. "So I'm trying."

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful!" She swept down on my and planted a motherly kiss on my cheek. "I've really gotten to like him over the last few months, you know. He's hardly the brat he used to be, and after all he's been through..." She looked at me. "I really do hope you can at least get along with him."

"I'm trying," I repeated. I wasn't even sure if he would come. Maybe he would decide that having an insane amnesiac threatening him wasn't a good idea. "I... um. I forgot to tell him what time, though."

"Oh, just send him an owl, dear. He's at the Leaky Cauldron which isn't too far." She saw the blank look on my face. "Here. Write him a note telling him what time and I'll show you how to send it to him by owl."

He arrived at two o'clock, just as I asked, just after lunch. I had thought maybe I could get an hour or two nap in, so I might be somewhat less wrecked when he came. But that did not happen, and from the look of the dark circles under his eyes, almost bruise-like on his pale skin, he wasn't much better off.

We said somewhat formal hellos when he came through the Floo, then went to the drawing room. He looked over the lesson plan that Hermione had drawn up. "That Granger, I tell you, she'll be Headmistress one day, if she survives the war," he said, impressed. 

Then he sat down on the couch and took a teacup out of his pocket. He set it on the table, waved his wand at it, and it turned into a mouse. "Transfiguration," he said. "Although I demonstrated it backwards. You're supposed to start with a mouse and turn it into a teacup. I caught that one this morning at the Leaky and Transfigured it before coming here."

The mouse was brown and curious, nosing around the table top without the slightest bit of fright. 

"All right, here you go." He explained the process, the incantation, and the proper wand motion, and then it was my turn to try it. As he talked, I kept stealing looks at him. I hadn't really looked at him before; I had been too wrapped up in my suspicions. He had high, fine cheekbones, and his hair needed trimming in the back where it was beginning to trail down his neck just a bit. "Harry, are you ready?"

On the first try, nothing happened. His face remained impassive. On the second try, poof, there was a teacup, and he smiled.

I couldn't quite smile back. After all Kingsley had told me, my suspicion seemed ludicrous. I tried to see Draco through Kingsley's eyes and what I saw made my heart ache. Nothing like having your lover turn up one day, threaten you, tell you he doesn't trust you and in fact hates you... "I'm glad you're smiling," I said. "I really didn't mean to make you cry."

"I know you didn't," he said, so softly I could barely hear it. "I just want to help you, Harry. If you can't..." He swallowed and forced himself to go on. "If it can't be the way it was before, I... I'll live. I understand. It's a war. Sometimes the people you love get killed."

That hit me hard. From his perspective, the person he loved was dead. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The Dark Lord is to blame. Let's not forget that." 

He picked up his wand as if to go on with the lesson, but I put my hand on his. "Can you help me find something?"

He searched my eyes for a moment. "What?"

"I don't know. I just have this feeling. I read in that book that sometimes it just takes a certain object or something from someone's past to trigger their memory to return. I figure I must have something somewhere, that might do that." I rolled my wand in my fingers. "I already looked in my sock drawer."

The smile returned along with a snort.

"I just figured, you're the person who apparently knew me best, so you might know..."

He stood up. "All right. Upstairs."

We went out into the hall. Mrs. Weasley called after us from downstairs, asking if we needed anything, and we both hollered back, in unison, "We're fine, thanks," which caused us to exchange a look with one another.

Upstairs in the bedroom, Draco waved his wand, said "Revelio," and I was amazed to find a door appearing in a blank stretch of wall. "You put the concealment spell on the closet door," Draco said, as he reached for the door handle. "You never told me why."

He pulled open the door and inside it was, in fact, a closet.

I put my wand into my back pocket and touched a few of the things hanging there. There were several sets of black robes, white shirts, and the like, and on the back of the door itself, several neckties, mostly scarlet and gold, but there were two green shot through with silver. 

"Our old school uniforms," Draco said, though I had guessed that already. "You've also got a chest in the bottom there."

I pulled out a small trunk, which turned out to be locked. I remembered one of the spells on Hermione's "useful charms" list, and unlocked it with Alohomora. I sat on the floor next to it and Draco sat next to me.

The first thing I pulled out was a large piece of cloth, slippery as water through my fingers. "What...?"

"Here, I'll show you." He pulled it over himself and disappeared. It slipped off as he shook his head, and just his head reappeared. "It's an Invisibility Cloak that belonged to your father."

He folded it and put it aside while I dug through the rest of the chest. Some old school books, a broken Snitch (Ron had told me all about Quidditch during our flying practice), various other random-seeming things that I must have picked up during my school years.

I looked up to ask him something, and he quickly looked away, as if I had caught him at something. And well, I had. I caught a glimpse of the longing on his face, the way he was looking at me. "Draco..." 

Now he was looking at the robe I had thrown on the floor last night, the green silk one. It lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the wardrobe. He was still looking at it as he said, in that careful voice, "I take it none of these things is triggering your memory."

I let out a breath I had held longer than I meant to. He was sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body in the air. "Draco..." I tried again, but there didn't seem to be words for what I wanted to express. Or ask.

He looked into my eyes and I remembered how soft his skin felt, his cheek under my thumb. I reached out toward him, letting my fingertips run under the line of his jaw, my thumb over his cheekbone, then across his slightly parted lips.

He was trembling. 

"Are you afraid?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Please don't be." I reached for him with my other hand, then, the compulsion to touch him so strong it was like when they had first brought me a wand in St. Mungo's. I didn't want to let go, didn't want to lose contact. I cupped his face, running my thumbs over his eyebrows as his eyes fluttered closed. 

I slid one hand into the silk of his hair and he leaned into the touch. I let my index finger trace the dark circles under his eyes, then the softness of his ear, like velvet. Then back to his lips. I ran my finger along his bottom lip and he tilted his chin upward slightly, letting his mouth fall open.

I touched the tip of my finger to the tip of his tongue, and the wet velvet of it suddenly engulfed my finger as he drew it in with gentle suction. I felt suddenly... giddy. My heart began to pound and I felt as though it might jump out of my chest.

"Draco, what kind of a lover was I before?"

His eyes opened and he let my finger go so he could speak. "I don't know how to answer that question."

"Was I... rough? Is that why you're afraid of me?"

He took my glasses off, set them aside, then slipped his arms around me then and pulled me close. "No, Harry." I buried my face in his neck, between his skin and the collar of his shirt, breathing in his scent. "It's not you I'm afraid of. It's what will happen to... us... " He had to break off speaking then as I licked his neck, sucking gently. 

I began to unbutton his shirt, wanting more of his skin, to taste more of it, to feel more of it. I explained as I made my way down the placket how touching him was like the wand had been, the almost unbearable compulsion at the start, how I slept with it in my hand...

"Then don't stop, Harry," he said as I pushed the shirt from his shoulders, pushing him back against the carpet at the same time.

His fingers were sliding up my torso under the T-shirt I wore even as I continued to explore him. I lost myself for long moments while suckling one of his nipples, until he pushed at me and begged me to do the other one. When we were both shirtless, I lay on top of him, cradled his head with my hands, and leaned down to kiss him.

As our lips touched, the giddiness turned to out-and-out vertigo. I clung to him, for I had lost my sense of gravity and space, and he seemed the only solid thing, my lips on his the only thing keeping me connected. His hands snaked around me and he kissed back fiercely. 

So like our first kiss. That had started out tentative, too. I had long since changed my opinion of him. He had shed the skin of the spoiled insecure brat I had known at school, and emerged wounded but righteous. We had talked of that night on the Astronomy Tower, of the choice Dumbledore had given him, or tried to, of how every person he had looked up to, or trusted, in his life, had either died or turned on him. And how I had promised, that although I might die, I would never turn on him...

I pulled back from him suddenly, our lips separating with a pop as I gasped for breath. I closed my eyes, trying to capture every detail again. I had been tearing him apart... "Oh, Draco."

He whimpered under me and it came to my attention that his erection was being somewhat crushed by my hipbone. I slid back and began to undo his trousers. He helped and soon he was down to just his socks, which I didn't pause to remove as I ran my nose up the inside of his thigh, the soft blond hairs on his leg tickling my cheek until I came to the thicker thatch of them at his crotch.

His hands grabbed at my trousers but I batted them away. His cock stood out so ruddy against the paleness of his hair and belly. I ran my tongue along the length of it and he grabbed at my hair instead. I enveloped the head in my mouth, just briefly, before pulling back, sitting up to look at him again. I ran my hands down his chest.

I had once cut him with magic, slashed him with a dark spell that had left him bleeding and helpless. I remembered the blood coloring the water. So long ago. I leaned down, pressed my ear to his chest and listened to his heart beat. "I won't hurt you." But even as I said it, I thought about all the times I had.

"Please, Harry," he answered, trying once again to unbutton my jeans.

"Help me with this." I stood up and he fairly tore them off me, pushing them down my legs until I stood in a denim puddle and he ran his cheek along the hardness of my erection. Then he closed his eyes, and teased the ridge with his lips.

The first time he had ever done that we had been hiding in a shepherd's cottage in Wales for two days. The destruction of that horcrux had knocked out all magic for miles around and we were laying low. At the time, I thought it was probably the most beautiful thing I had ever seen: his face, so at peace as he nuzzled at me.

It still was.

Then he took the length of me in his mouth and I couldn't maintain my footing for long. We moved to the bed, still in stocking feet, and he ate me more hungrily as I lay back, arousal sparking hot in my stomach. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I turned the tables, pinning him under me and sliding my slick cock in the hollow between his thigh and his stomach.

When I entered him it was like someone had plucked a string deep inside me, a vibration, a resonance, or maybe that was him shuddering underneath me, breathing with me.

"I missed you," he hissed, as he clung to me.

"I missed you, too." I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of images through my mind, the times I had held him like this, impaled on me, trusting me. "Draco..." I tried to speak even as I was thrusting into him. "I remember everything."

His answer was to squeeze me more tightly, one hand buried in my hair, the other roaming my back. 

"How did you do it?" I asked.

"What?" he managed.

"Start to trust me, when you knew..." I reared up to look into his eyes. "After what I did to you..."

I slowed my rhythm to give him time to breathe and speak. "I figured if you could start to trust me, after all I had done, then I could do the same."

There was a logic there I couldn't deny. "I remember falling in love."

A tension he had been holding seemed to melt inside him, and I wrapped my fingers around his cock, stroking him tenderly in time with the motion of my hips. I remembered how hard he liked it, how fast. I remembered learning these things, the hours we had spent learning each other. I remembered he had been the reluctant one at first, that I had been the one to draw him out when he had decided he didn't deserve me, didn't deserve happiness. 

He had been the one who feared I didn't really love him. "My god, Draco, I'm so sorry."

"I told you," he said fiercely, wrapping his legs around me. "The blame belongs on his head. Not yours."

I stroked him the way I knew he liked, and it was only a matter of seconds after that before he cried out under me, arching and giving himself into my hand. I was right behind him, clutching him tight for that moment of blankness that usually struck me at the peak of orgasm, that moment of fear that I might lose myself completely.

But I didn't. When I opened my eyes everything was clear.

 

-the end-


End file.
